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Aemon I Targaryen
King '''Aemon I Targaryen '''is the firstborn son of King Maekar II Targaryen and his wife Queen Daena. Appearance Never handsome or particularly distinguished, Aemon is a short, sturdy man, plain and ordinary-looking. He inherited his father’s northern looks, with dark hair and a peasant’s square face; a grizzled beard streaked with gray hides his rather weak chin and fat neck. With age, he’s become portly and hairy, his round stomach ample proof that the days of training in his youth have turned to nights spent around a keg of beer in his cellars. The only kingly feature he can boast are his eyes, inherited from his mother- intent, full of cynical intelligence, and a deep indigo-violet. History Born into a court torn in two by the rival interests of Queen Daena Targaryen, last scion of a family given to madness and the flames, and Visenya Waters, whose indomitable personality and fierce determination left ashes in her wake, Prince Aemon Targaryen was never certain of his place in the world, a dangerous thing for a boy who would someday inherit the Iron Throne. From the moment of his birth, heralded with joy from around the realm, he was a changeling in the court, mousy-hair and fat, as far removed from the line of Aegon the Conquerer as the bare skull of Balerion was from a garden lizard. His father doted on him on the rare occasions when he managed to notice him, a kind but dim man who preferred the gentle hand of the Faith to rest on his shoulder at all times. His mother wanted to protect him, to hoard him to herself as recompense for the brothers that her own husband had stolen from her. His grandmother molded him, with an iron fist and an acid tongue- she had no use for mercy since the day the Great Sept of Baelor burned. Aemon was a quiet boy, stubborn to a fault, with a temper that burned scorching hot. He had little patience for games or lessons, and reading was a constant chore; his eyes seemed to mix up letters with alarming regularity, a flaw that left him more or less illiterate until he was a teenager. He preferred things he saw as practical pursuits- sparring in the yard, tending to the horses, or carving scraps of wood with his pocket knife. By age eight, he was most notorious for his frequent attempts to run away. Every month brought a new incident of the prince having to be hauled home by a Flea Bottom shopkeep or goodwife, covered in filth and unwilling to share a single word about where he’d been or what he’d been doing. Once, he had gotten as far as Hull by hiding behind a cask of wine in a ship's hold, though the motion of the waves eventually lulled him to sleep (coupled, perhaps, with ample amounts of the cask’s contents). When he was discovered, he was nearly thrown overboard as a stowaway until his eyes snapped open, revealing his ancestry and forcing the confused sailors to think twice and deliver him to Lord Velaryon instead. While he served as a squire to the famed lord commander of the Kingsguard, Monterys Velaryon, Aemon was raised in a time of peace, and his more practical education did not come in the training yard. The prince was always fiercely devoted to his own independence, posing as a street peddler and urchin in his youth, absorbing the gossip of the taverns and the rhythms of the docks. The city, he found, was fascinating in its own way, a complex web of people living out simple lives, tracing footsteps in dusty streets until they became second nature. The scars he bore were a point of pride, just like the dirt beneath his fingernails. At twelve, he earned a broken nose in a bare-knuckled tavern brawl; at fourteen, another fight with an Ironborn sailor ended with a dropped axe and the severing of his smallest right toe. Soon afterward, his adventures came to an abrupt and grinding halt, in part because of his mutilation, but primarily because of his marriage to the woman he had been intended for since birth: Ceryse Hightower. The bride had several inches and two years on her princely groom, and together, they made an odd couple, a rough little boy with bruises on his knees beside the very picture of ladylike elegance, tall and severe with honey-blonde hair and startling blue eyes. Ceryse was never beautiful, but she was distinguished in the way only a woman told from birth that she would be queen could be, self-assurance present in her every step. She was cast in the same mold that Daena and Visenya were, hard steel cloaked in velvet and silk, and she entered their courtly politics with a flourish, siding most often with the devout mother of the king. Together, they formed a coalition in courtroom politics that drove the proud but bitter Queen Daena further into disrepute, advancing their own policies and winning the ear of King Maeker. Aemon, for his own part, was fond of Ceryse- or at least as fond as the notoriously stoic prince could be. She provoke the rare smile from him, and he never chafed at following her instructions the way he did at his mother or grandmother’s. Because of her urging, he tried to take an interest in issues of ruling the realm, though bureaucracy was stifling and frustrating to him. Always cynical and irreligious, Aemon even began attending services at the rebuilt Great Sept with his wife at his side. Slowly, the court began to believe that he could prove a worthy heir to his father as a result of her influence. The birth of their last child, however, was a difficult one, and Ceryse was confined to bedrest for weeks afterwards. Aemon was diligently found at her side, and steadily, she grew stronger, the glow of health seeping back into into her cheeks. All within the court seemed convinced she would be well soon- until the morning she was found cold and still beneath the silks of her bedsheets. It is still rumored in King’s Landing that Daena made sure that the princess never recovered in order to place her own daughter on the throne. If there is truth to it, then it was her greatest victory in a war that had lasted most of her life, a rivalry sealed in fire and blood. Certainly it was no coincidence that Ceryse expired just as Visenya began to slip into a period of delirium and dementia, her brilliance finally dulled by age and the stresses of a lifetime of paranoia. Within the year, Aemon was wed once more, this time to his younger sister Daenys, a move which drew the resentment and mistrust of many within the Faith, who whispered that Daena’s wishes came about through poison and sorcery. Whatever the circumstances of his first wife’s death, it sealed Aemon’s fate. He never again involved himself in the politics of King’s Landing, developed a crippling dislike of the court, and severed his relationship with his mother. His second marriage was turbulent and unhappy, and he found no comfort in it. Daenys is not half the queen that Ceryse might have been. Never as bright as her mother or grandmother and raised perpetually in their shadow, she fancies herself a schemer, a courtesan, and a patron of the arts. She is a magpie drawn to shiny things, flitting between interests and passions with manic enthusiasm. Just as inevitable, however, are her violently depressive lows, in which she lashes out at anyone around her. Her cunning is the lowest sort, a magnetic attraction to the exact words that can hurt another person the most. Enough of them, and she had driven her husband away entirely. Since the birth of their youngest child, Daenys and Aemon have not even shared each other’s bed. During the last years of their father’s reign, Daenys lived at court with Queen Daena, while Aemon rarely left the islands of the Blackwater. His only notable excursion was his service in the Stepstones during the crises that threatened the Martell family- while he is not a renowned knight, Aemon is a dependable swordsman, and every night spent camping on an inhospitable hunk of rock was one where he truly felt alive. The comforts of home were nothing compared to the rush of a mission done well or a battle won. He insisted on leading a division on the front lines and a place in the vanguard- while it infuriates his mother and wife, Aemon has never particularly feared for his life, or even valued it highly. Stubbornness extended even that far. In the absence of Ceryse, Aemon also learned the importance of proving a proper father to his children. His idea of what that means is sometimes flawed- warmth is very rare from him, and sometimes a grunt of encouragement is the only sign his sons and daughters have of his approval. He has a great fondness for dragging them along on hunting excursions that end in rainstorms, mud, and misery- he insists this builds character. On one such trip to Crackclaw Point, he gave his sons each a length of rope and a burlap tarp, instructed them to build shelter, and then disappeared to go spearfishing… for three days. His temper is fearsome, his expectations unreasonably high, and his respect for his children’s own wishes for their future non-existent. But he is steadfastly there- the one thing his own sainted father could never manage to be. One by one, however, his children have moved beyond the protective nest of Dragonstone and into the den of vipers that is King's Landing. First Naerys and Maelys, the inseparable twins, followed several years later by their bright-eyed younger sister Jaina. The world that Aemon tried to shelter them from is one that was, in the end, their birthright. Only his two youngest remained with him on the island- Aelyx and Aemma, both of whom are plagued with their own versions of the family's legendary madness, a fact that Aemon would never admit to an outsider. As Prince of Dragonstone, Aemon took an active and attentive role in the lives of his vassals and their own families, often dropping in unannounced to Claw Isle or High Tide. He prides himself on knowing even the lowliest of guards by name, and has a fanatical devotion to keeping expenses low, budgets balanced, and the high lordship of the Blackwater Bay functioning like a well-oiled piece of machinery. His manner of speaking is coarse, straight-forward, and often deadpan. Meetings in general he despises, but there is nothing he is quite so resentful of as one that goes even five minutes beyond its allotted time. He has little respect for men he finds weak or tractable, and none for those he finds corrupt. Politics simultaneously bore and revolt him. In no way is he a model heir to the throne, save for one: dedication. Proficiencies * Brawling (x2) * Swordsmanship Family King Aemon I Targaryen (Born 337 AC) m. Princess Ceryse Hightower (Born 335 AC - Died 357 AC) * Crown Prince Maelys Targaryen (Born 352 AC) * Princess Naerys Targaryen (Born 352 AC) * Princess Jaina Targaryen (Born 357 AC) m. Queen Daenys Targaryen (Born 340 AC) * Prince Aelyx Targaryen (Born 359 AC) * Princess Aemma Targaryen (Born 367 AC) Category:House Targaryen Category:Valyrians Category:Characters from the Crownlands